Not a cushion
by takitaka
Summary: Estonia/Latvia intended, but can be read as gen. Written as a gift for easterneuropesanta on dreamwidth, for prompt: what it's like staying at Estonia's house with his mochi pets.


Latvia was laying face down on the carpet, right in the middle of the room.

Estonia shouldn't even be surprised anymore at this point. And maybe he wasn't, not really, since he easily squashed down the usual urge to yell for Latvia and rush over to make sure he was okay. It was apparently "slightly overprotective". Besides being, what was that…? Ah, overbearing, completely unnecessary, and at times creepy, as Latvia felt it important to repeatedly point out, stopping the flow of unflattering epithets only when Estonia promised to work on a) them, b) himself, and c) the world in general.

That's why, faced with another strange and worrisome occurrence, he only said "okay" and stepped over Latvia to get to the kitchen.

It was probably nothing big, he thought while he was leaning against the counter, stirring hot tea in his cup. Just some usual temper tantrum that Latvia sometimes felt was necessary. Nothing to worry about in the slightest.

That, or he was sipping hot tea staring at dead body in his living room. And he didn't even like tea.

Either way what were the chances of Latvia being actually dead? He was just passed out, more likely.

Or _temporarily_ dead. Which was still better than being in such a state permanently. And Latvia had practice in coming back too! There was that one time when Russia had tried to stop him from shaking and Latvia had just kind of—yes, Estonia thought as his fingers tightened around the cup, trying to remember that Latvia had indeed come back. "God didn't like me and told me to get lost," Latvia had said then, the first words he'd uttered after waking up.

Estonia doubted God really liked any of them, now that he took time to actually think about it. Which didn't bode any of them well and could easily explain quite a few things.

Maybe he really should think of something else.

Like about Latvia rubbing his face against the carpet.

Estonia winced and finally walked out of the kitchen, mentally bracing himself for whatever it was this time. He sat on the couch, extending his hand with the cup like an offering, even though Latvia couldn't see him.

"Tea?" he said, and cringed again when he realized he made that a question.

It was met with a stony silence, but when he was about to give up and lower his arm, Latvia's whole body twitched in that way that only Latvia seemed to know how to do.

"No."

"No?" he caught on quickly, out of sheer desperation for something understandable, like words. Words he could work with.

"No."

And that was it.

He lowered his arm after all, when it became clear Latvia truly didn't want his tea as well. What was he going to do with it now? Seriously, where were those mochis when he needed them—

Oh.

As if summoned by his thoughts – and he wasn't really crossing out that possibility either, but it was another thing he'd rather not think about – England mochi appeared on his coffee table, looking expectantly up at him until he put the tea next to it. As soon as he took his hand away, the mochi embraced the cup, its soft, white body stretching and tightening around it, until it swallowed it whole.

It was only slightly disturbing to look at.

There was an obnoxious "slurp" sound, and Estonia yelped when the mochi exerted itself and unexpectedly shot out the empty cup right at him.

"Rubbish," it said with importance, before rolling off the table, leaving Estonia to clutch at his cup and trying to catch his breath.

"SEE?!"

He almost jumped out of his skin again at Latvia's shout. He completely missed the moment when Latvia kneeled up on the floor, and now he was pointing at Estonia accusingly, his cheeks furiously red.

"See?! It's that. It's that, all the time! They keep—they keep following me and doing completely creepy things like that!" he finished with another twitch, and then flailed his hands around for a bit before crossing them against his chest.

So that was what it was about. Estonia felt himself relax and adjusted his glasses, feeling more in his element now that he finally knew what was going on.

"They're just being friendly," he said patiently. "Not to mention—"

"Don't," Latvia interrupted him, glaring hotly. "Don't use that tone with me."

Estonia didn't really want to ask, it just slipped out, albeit tiredly. "What tone?"

"That I-can't-believe-I-need-to-explain-it-to-you tone! From the I-have-glasses-and-don't-look-like-fifteen-years-old-so-I'm-clearly-superior repertory!" Latvia's cheeks, if possible, got even redder, and Estonia let his eyebrows shot up. Just because he knew it'd make Latvia mad and—

Oh, okay, maybe they both acted like fifteen years olds sometimes.

That knowledge didn't lessen the satisfaction he felt even a little.

"They really are, though. Trying." It felt like he was trying himself, and doing poorly, judging by how furious Latvia still looked. He thought to all those times the mochis were surprising him, even though he spent more time with them than anyone else, if he wasn't mistaken. Maybe it wasn't so strange that Latvia was weirded out.

Suddenly, he felt defensive. He was _trying_ – and great, now he got stuck with that word – to train the mochis, too, and considering that there wasn't many guidebooks on that anywhere? Not an easy job. Latvia freaking out at him felt like pointing out that he was royally fucking it up.

He straightened up, thankful that he was holding the cup, since it stopped him from instinctively crossing his arms too.

"There was one in a jar." Latvia said, now glaring intently at the floor. "In the cupboard. Where you usually keep coffee."

Estonia thought quickly.

"Oh. _Oh_—Finmochi—I couldn't keep him away," he started, and paused. Something didn't add up, and it wasn't Finmochi's obsession with coffee. That, if anything, was completely expected and understandable.

Latvia was still sulking on the floor when Estonia felt realization slowly dawning on him.

"You wanted to make me coffee," he said, sounding surprised and pleased and something else entirely, something that made his stomach feel all fluttery. "That's—"

_Super, cool_, he wanted to say, or something like that, since there was also that "you don't appreciate me enough" look Latvia was giving him sometimes, but he never got to do it.

"It freaked me _out_." Latvia looked really angry about it, unusually so, now that Estonia looked more closely.

It surprised him into saying, "I'm sorry?" Like he wasn't sure if he was apologizing or asking for clarification.

One that he got anyway, so there was that, at least.

"And I—it fell out, and I run here, and grabbed a cushion and hugged it because I was stressed because your stupid mochis keep trailing behind and appearing in the strangest of places, and in the shower, and, and everywhere, all day yesterday and now today and I was so _stressed_! AND I HUGGED THIS STUPID CUSHION!"

Now Estonia was just really staring at Latvia with wide eyes, because what in the name of—

"_And it wasn't a cushion at all!_"

So finished, Latvia hid his face in his hands and froze like that, perfect image of tragedy and despair.

The silence seemed to be deafening after Latvia's outburst, so Estonia spoke as soon as he could make his throat work. "You hugged a mochi, didn't you?"

"I hugged Russia mochi," Latvia moaned. "I hugged Russia mochi and its big nose and I took comfort from it and _my life has lost all meaning_."

"So you laid down on my floor and… stayed like that until I came in?" Estonia felt like he had to make sure.

Latvia didn't nod his head, but his groan was a confirmation enough.

Estonia looked up. And up, and up. Somewhere up there, way beyond his ceiling, was a God that hated them all.

He grabbed a cushion and threw it in Latvia's face.

And it wasn't a cushion at all.


End file.
